Faded Memories
by Lemur76
Summary: A Sequel to The Dragon's Prey. Can be read by itself. It has been five years since anyone has seen Draco Malfoy. Until Hermione runs into him in the middle of nowhere. Can Hermione help him remember everything that happened between them?
1. Chapter 1

Ah, a sequel it is. Too many people didn't like the ending of The Dragon's Prey. Tsk, tsk. Do you really think that it could have worked? With so much between them? Well, in response to all the gentle hints, I decided to play with a plot bunny that I had…

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger walked down Fifth Street, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, her head down, watching her breath crystallize in front of her. It had been five years since she had graduated from Hogwarts. She was 22 years old.

She had recently moved to London, rented a flat, and settled into her new job. For the past five years, she had been working at Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizardry. Deciding that she needed to pursue a different career, she decided to move to London for a new position with a financial company.

Harry and Ginny were excited. Newlyweds, they had rented out a flat on Diagon Alley. Harry worked at the Ministry as an Auror. Ginny was working at her brothers' store, as a cashier, figuring out what she wanted to do.

Hermione paused before the large clock of Big Ben. Looking up, she realized how late it was. Nine o'clock. She had been wandering the streets for two straight hours. She saw a pub on the other side of the street and walked into it.

The warm air was filled with the scents of liquor and smoke. She drank it in. Normal, she thought. This is normal. I'm 22. I need to be normal, not worrying about what is happening with the Order. Where Voldemort is hiding. I am a normal witch.

She ordered a roast beef sandwich, with extras, and a glass of red wine. Sitting at the bar, she glanced around. A mix of old and young, drunk and sober, rich and poor, filled the pub. She wished that she had more in her life, but couldn't quite pinpoint what was lacking.

She had finished her sandwich and was on her third glass of wine when something caught her eye. A flash of platinum blond hair on top of a figure dressed all in black. She turned fully to see the young man. She realized that she was staring and whipped around to stare at the empty plate in front of her. She pushed it aside and reached for her purse. She pulled out a few galleons and tossed them on the table. She sipped the last of her wine and rose from the table.

Pulling on her dark red leather jacket, she hurried from the pub. Out on the street, with the cool breeze ruffling her hair, she started walking again. Roaming without a destination, she ended up in Trafalgar Square, directly in front of the fountain. She sat down along the edge and squeezed her eyes together. Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she felt the gold galleon in her palm.

Her mind roamed back to her first year teaching. The year she had learned so much. About her students, about herself, about love. Unbidden, Draco Malfoy's image came to her mind. She hadn't seen him in five years. In fact, nobody had seen him in five years. He had completed his NEWTS, finished his internship, and then simply disappeared.

As often as Hermione had thought about him, she had just as often tried to dismiss him from her mind. A relationship between them was impossible. Too much was in their past.

Lately, though, she had begun to wonder. At seventeen, she had been so innocent and so sure of herself. At 22, she had begun to doubt the beliefs that she had so adamantly clung to at seventeen. She wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he thought about her.

She pulled the galleon out of her pocket and looked down at it for the millionth time in the past five years. Closing her eyes, she squeezed it tightly in her palm. _I wish I could see you Draco, _she thought_, just to know that you are safe._

Without warning, Hermione felt a pull at her bellybutton. She opened her eyes, shocked, and stared down at the portkey. Before she had time for another thought, her body rose, twirling in the air.

A moment later, she touched down in a completely unfamiliar place. Glancing frantically around, she whispered to herself, "I don't think I'm in London anymore."

She was deep in a forest, enormous trees shielding her view of the night sky. A deep mist swirled around her. A drop of water fell on her nose. It was frigid, much colder than it had been in London. Her light jacket did nothing to keep the cold off her. Wrapping her arms around her body, she continued to hold the galleon in her hand.

She heard a rustle of leaves and the sound of heavy breathing. Whirling around, she saw a figure running straight towards her. He was tall and lean. His hair was short and dirty. His clothes were dirty and ragged. He kept looking back over his shoulder, as if searching for a pursuer.

He hadn't noticed her yet, his momentum building as he ran full tilt towards her. As he approached her, Hermione caught a glimpse of his face. She gasped.

"Draco?" she called, her voice hushed.

His head turned at the sound of her voice. He pulled back as he saw her, trying to stop his momentum. It was too late. He slammed into her at full force, knocking her down, his body on top of hers. Stunned, Hermione lay underneath him.

A loud crackling sound startled her. She felt his arms wrap around her body, rolling her into him. Together, limbs entwined, they rolled down a small hill to rest underneath some brush.

"Shh," he whispered into her ear. "Don't make a sound."

Hermione complied, trying to control her heavy breathing. She clung to him, burying her face into his chest as she listened to the sounds of footfalls from above.

"I thought he went this way." A shrill female voice tore through the air.

"He couldn't have gotten far. Go!" answered another harsh male voice.

She heard them retreating and they lay together for a long time not saying anything. Finally, when Hermione didn't think she could bear it anymore, Draco rolled her onto her back and gazed down at her.

"I guess I need to thank you for saving my life," he said. "But I must ask you something."

Hermione nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.

"Who the hell are you?" Without another word, he collapsed on top of her, fainting dead away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione lay there, stunned. Draco's body covered her almost completely, his weight heavy on top of her. She almost panicked and then stopped. Wrapping her arms tightly around Draco, she squeezed her eyes together tightly and said, "Destination, Determination, Deliberation."

With a POP, she apparated them both back to her flat in London. She opened her eyes widely, staring at the peeled plaster on the ceiling above her. She had landed exactly where she wanted to land, on her full sized bed. She released a sigh of relief, and let go of Draco's body.

He rolled off of her onto his back. She propped herself up to examine him by the stream of moonlight coming through the window. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was shallow. His skin was white, whiter than normal, and it was freezing cold. He had dark bruises under his eyes and a long scrape that ran the length of his right cheek. His hair was so dirty that it was no longer blond.

And, he smelled. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was lying on her bed. He needed a bath, badly.

Gently, she shook him and called his name. There was no response. She shook him harder, and he moaned. Rising from the bed, Hermione flipped on a lamp on the bedside table. Checking on him one last time, she walked over to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. After turning on the light, she started to fill a bath for him in her old-fashioned, claw-foot tub. In a few minutes, the tub was full of warm water.

She returned to Draco's side, wondering how she was going to get him in there. He had been coherent enough in the forest so she knew that he wasn't beyond doing for himself. He had some strength left in his body, no matter how weak he currently seemed.

"Come on, Draco," she insisted, shaking him again. "You have to help me. I can't carry you."

Draco's eyes fluttered open, his long lashes sweeping against his cheeks. He groaned and tried to sit up. "What?" His eyes didn't seem to focus as they wandered around the room. "Where am I?"

"You're in my flat," replied Hermione, glad he was lucid again. She stepped back from him, letting him absorb his surroundings. "In London."

"How did I get here?" He sat on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge, his elbows propped on his knees. He closed his eyes, his face twisted up in discomfort, his hand reaching up to clutch the side of his head.

"I apparated us back." Hermione placed her hands on both of his shoulders. He looked up at her, focusing on her features. "I drew you a bath. I think it might be a good idea for you to take one," she continued.

He made no move to rise, slumping over to one side. She realized that adrenaline had gotten him a long way in that forest. He wouldn't have lasted much longer if she had not come along.

"Here," she said, helping him sit up once again. "I'm going to help you undress and get into the bath, okay?"

He nodded in response. Silently, Hermione began to unbutton his once-pristine white shirt. He let her slide the shirt off one arm, and then the other. Hermione sucked in her breath. Dark bruises were scattered across his ribs, and a long, deep red scar marked his white back.

"What did they do to you?" she whispered to herself.

"They… they locked me up," said Draco. "I wasn't sure why."

Hermione knelt down, glancing up at him in surprise when he answered. She busied herself by taking off his boots. They were dirty, but they were well-made, of very fine leather. So were his clothes, she noted, as she took off one sock and then the other. She wondered at it, since it didn't seem to fit the attire of a prisoner.

She realized that the last two articles of clothing that needed to be removed were his trousers and any undergarments which he wore. She swallowed. She had been close to Draco several years ago, but she hadn't been that intimate with him. She closed her eyes_. I am a normal 22 year old witch_, she told herself_. Most witches my age have seen lots of men naked. You can do this._

She opened her eyes again and looked up at his face. He was staring back at her vacantly. "Stand up," she ordered. "Let me help you take your pants off."

Obligingly, Draco stood and didn't murmur a word as she unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down his pants. He lifted one foot out of the pool of cloth at his feet and then the other. Hermione eyed the white boxer shorts he still had on. She made a tacit decision not to go there.

She led him into the bathroom and helped him sit down in the tub. He hissed as he sank lower. She knew that the shock of the warmth would be harsh on his skin, which was the main reason she hadn't poured scalding hot water into the bath. She rolled up her own sleeves and leaned over the tub. Silently, she picked up the soap and the washcloth and began lathering it up.

With slow, methodical strokes, she soaped his back, his chest, his arms and his legs. He even allowed her to clean his face and behind his ears. After she was done, she grabbed for her strawberry scented shampoo. He closed his eyes as she washed his hair. After twenty minutes, they were done, and Hermione was as wet as Draco was.

He didn't seem to notice the way her baby blue blouse clung to her curves and revealed her navel through the thin fabric. Her long hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, was sagging down her back. A thin line of sweat covered her brow.

"Hold on," she told him. "I'll be back. I'm going to get a towel." She hurried out of the room, grabbed the first one she could find, and rushed back to the bathroom. In her absence, Draco had stood. And he had taken off the white boxers. They were now floating in the tub.

Hermione gulped, aware that a warm tendril of desire had snaked its way down her belly to her legs. She stood, holding the towel limply in front of her. "I…I… I got you a towel." She thrust it in his direction.

He stepped out of the tub, onto the bathmat, and reached for the warm terrycloth in her hands. Water was running in rivulets down the contours of his chest, winding its way down his abdomen, twisting down his thighs. Hermione couldn't stop staring. Draco didn't seem to notice. He was busily drying off his face with the towel, then his upper body, legs and feet, and then, to Hermione's disappointment, Draco wrapped the towel around his waist.

Hermione stepped back from the doorway to allow him entrance into the bedroom. Waking from her reverie, she reached for his arm and led him over to the bed again. She pulled down the coverlet and the sheet. "I think you should sleep," she stated, guiding him to sit on the bed and then lay down. His exhaustion was beginning to overtake him and he gave into it. In a fit, he yanked off the towel and lay his head down on her pillow.

Hermione pulled the covers over his body, not without glancing down at his lower body, and then stroked the hair off of his face. His eyes were once again closed and his face had softened. Her lips curved into a slow smile. She bent down to turn off the lamp and began to make her way to the door. A hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed her by the forearm.

Hermione was forced to bend down over Draco. His silver grey eyes were staring at her intently. "Thank you," he said, and pulled her even closer. Wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, he placed a well-aimed kiss on her lips.

A small moan escaped Hermione. He felt so good, just like she remembered. He released her just as suddenly as he had grabbed her. Hermione pulled back. He had turned his head away.

"Good night," she whispered, quietly leaving the room. Where _had_ he been for all those years?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The following morning, Hermione peeked around the door into her bedroom. Draco lay on her bed, spread out, underneath the white coverlet. He looked so peaceful that she hesitated waking him. In the end, she knew it was for the best.

She walked to the window and pulled up the blinds. Turning, she saw Draco just opening his silver eyes.

"Good morning," she said quietly.

"Where am I?' asked Draco.

"London," Hermione replied. "My flat."

He sat up, the coverlet sliding down to his waist. He rubbed one eye and yawned widely. "Who exactly are you?" he asked inquisitively, his head tilted to one side.

Hermione stared at him. Last night, in the forest, she assumed that he hadn't recognized her due to the light and the situation. But now, she was a little confused.

"It's me, Hermione." When no recognition lit up his face, she explained further. "Hermione Granger. From Hogwarts."

He shook his head. "No, sorry, I don't recognize you. Not that I would. I went to Durmstrang."

Hermione pulled back. Was this Draco's idea of a sick joke? She expected him to break into a smile, tease her and grab her in his arms. Or, even express a hint of derision or distaste for her. Nothing came. He merely waited calmly for her to reply.

She turned away from him and headed for the linen closet. She took the time to compose herself as she searched for a soft, clean towel. When she whirled back around, he had risen from the bed.

"Here." She thrust the towel at him and nodded towards the door to the bathroom. "Feel free to take another shower. I'll bring in a tray of breakfast food while you get ready, and then I'm going to run to the store to get you some clothes."

Draco nodded, staring at her intently. "Thank you. What happened to my clothes?"

"I had to throw them out," she told him, hoping that he didn't sense that she was lying. They were, in fact, newly washed and neatly folded on a shelf above her washer and dryer. She needed to keep him here, in her room, while she found out what had happened to him. He wasn't as weak as he was last night, and she knew that he would leave soon if she didn't stop him.

She had tried to keep track of him over the past five years, but she had had very little luck. He went underground after his internship with Gringotts, even though he had excelled quickly there. There had been rumors about a ministry assignment and then other rumors that he had returned to the Dark Side. Every now and then he had been spotted in France and in Italy. As a Malfoy, he was on the fringes of high society in the Wizarding World, and every now and then, the tabloids would publish bits and pieces about sightings of him, mentioning how private he kept his life.

At first, Hermione had missed him, though she understood why their relationship could not grow. After all, she had been the one to emphasize that point to him. But it didn't stop her heart from aching a little every time she saw his picture in Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet's Gossip Column (often written by none other than Rita Skeeter). She had gotten into the habit of cutting his picture out when she saw one and tossing the clippings into the pages of her diary. He had grown so much in the past five years. At seventeen, he had been handsome. At twenty-two, he was refined. As she grew older, she realized how naïve she had been and wished that they could have a second chance.

Merlin had given her a second chance, and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure it ended how she wanted it to end.

She hadn't realized that she had been silent for so long until Draco cleared his throat.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She shook herself. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry. My mind wandered for a moment." She pulled herself together and looked him directly in the eye, taking charge of the task at hand.

"I'll be back. If you need anything, feel free to search around." She gestured out the door of the bedroom. "There's a living room and a kitchen out here. If you get hungrier, just grab something in the fridge." Before he could stop her, she escaped out the door.

The first place Hermione went was to Harrod's. She had checked his size already while she had been washing his clothes, and she grabbed several shirts, two pairs of pants, underclothes and socks. She was so efficient that she was finished in twenty minutes. She carried the items to her car and threw them into the trunk.

Wrapping her jacket tightly around her, she got back into the car and drove directly to Diagon Alley. She parked a block away from The Leaky Cauldron, and then made her way into the magical portion of London. Five minutes later, she was banging on the door to Harry and Ginny's flat.

Hermione heard a high-pitched giggle from the other side of the door. "Coming," said a female voice.

The door opened several inches, and a red-haired freckled face appeared. Ginny Potter grinned at her friend. "Hermione! What are you doing here?" Ginny tried to scoot her body behind the door, but not before Hermione saw that she only had a skimpy little towel covering her torso. From the middle of the room, Hermione heard Harry yell, "Tell them to come back in twenty minutes. That's all I need!"

Hermione's ears burned red at Harry's taunt. "I know it's early, Ginny, but I really have to talk to Harry," Hermione pleaded.

At the serious urgency in Hermione's voice, Ginny's smile fell from her face and she turned to her husband, who was obviously in the middle of the room. "Harry, get some clothes on. Hermione's here, and she needs to talk." Hermione heard Harry leave the room, and when the coast was clear, Ginny opened the door wide to let Hermione into the flat.

"What's up?" asked Ginny, a concerned expression on her face.

"It's a bit of a story," answered Hermione, shrugging off her jacket and placing onto a hook by the door.

Ginny nodded, sensing that Hermione needed an ear and some comfort. "I'll be back in a second. Let me throw on some clothes." As Ginny headed into the bedroom, she said, "There's hot water for tea and some biscuits on the table. Help yourself."

Ten minutes later, they were gathered in the living room. Ginny and Harry had donned appropriate clothing. Harry was sitting on the edge of his favorite armchair, Ginny sat on the arm of the chair, and Hermione was on the couch. Holding a cup of steaming tea in her hands, Hermione began to tell her tale, from the moment in London when she discovered the galleon was a portkey to the conversation that she had with Draco this morning. She left one part out. The kiss. It had been such an amazing kiss, and she didn't think she could share it with anyone, not even two of her closest friends.

Ginny and Harry listened, amazed, the entire time. When she was finished, Hermione asked Harry quietly, "Do you know if Draco was sent on a mission for the Ministry?"

Harry sighed. "Yes. He was." Ginny patted him on the back, encouraging him. Harry continued. "I wasn't on board yet. The ministry contacted Draco in the middle of the worst years of the war. He had declared publicly that he was no longer supporting Voldemort, and the ministry felt he needed to back his words with actions. They sent him to find his relatives, who were scattered across Europe. They kept tabs on him for a while, and then they lost track of him."

He looked Hermione directly in the eye. "When I found out, I went crazy. I had some harsh words with Scrimgeour. The way I looked at it, the ministry had sent Draco directly into a death trap. He had completely turned from Voldemort, everyone knew it. He didn't have the training necessary to battle with the Voldemort's followers, although his knowledge of the Dark Arts was extensive. And, as much as I disliked the git in school, he had turned out okay by the end."

Hermione's mouth twisted as she thought about the situation at hand. "Well, he's back. I brought him here. I don't even know where I was for those ten minutes that I was gone. He might remember, but I'm not sure. I think you and someone from St. Mungo's should come over today and talk to him." Hermione's big hazel eyes pleaded with Harry.

Ginny nodded. "I agree." She nudged Harry's shoulder. "Who owes you a favor over there?"

Harry nodded, grudgingly. It was his day off, and he wanted to spend the day with his wife. In bed. But, he knew that this was important to Hermione and to the ministry. "I bet Neville will do me a favor."

"You don't think he'll still be afraid of Malfoy?" asked Ginny.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Nah. Since Neville hit six foot three inches, nobody intimidates him."

Hermione stood. "Well, I better get back to him. I hope that he is still there."

Ginny walked her friend to the door. "Why do you think he'll stay and not run away? I mean, besides the fact that he doesn't have anyplace to go?"

Hermione turned slightly pink, and murmured, "I hid his clothes."

"You what?" Ginny wasn't sure that she had heard her friend correctly.

"I hid his clothes," she stated, loud and clear this time.

Ginny giggled. Harry grinned. Hermione shrugged.

"He took me by surprise, telling me that he didn't know me. I did what I had to do. I left." Hermione was smiling, too, by this point. Her actions were so unlike her that she could truly appreciate the humor in the whole situation. "I bought him a bunch of new clothes. The best. At Harrod's."

Harry and Ginny were laughing fully by this time. Hermione rolled her eyes at her friends.

"I'll see you in a bit," she said and took off.

Moments later, she was keying into her flat. She pushed the door open and struggled through the doorway with her purchases. Dropping them on the floor, she closed the door. Suddenly, from behind her, she heard a familiar voice.

"What the hell is going on, Hermione?" Draco's voice was tight and angry.

Hermione swiveled around to face him. He sat on her couch, with a small mound of papers spread across the coffee table in front of him. He had obviously been searching her place thoroughly, because he had found his clothes. As she approached, she realized what the papers were.

Clippings of Draco from the last five years of his life covered the table. Pictures of him in Italy, in France, with a beautiful woman on his arm in one, with a Hollywood actress in another. And in the center was her diary, open to last entry, dated two days ago, when she was pining after him more than ever.

Her indignation grew. She snatched the diary up, slammed it shut, and held it close to her. "How dare you!" she bellowed. "How dare you go into my personal things and… and.." She couldn't speak, she was so mad.

"Oh, I dare a lot," said Draco, rising from his seat and advancing towards her. He reached for her and grabbed her shoulders. "And I should ask you the same."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A tight, tense silence ensued. Tears of anger, mingled with hurt, shone brightly in Hermione's eyes as she challenged his domineering stance. Malfoy's grip loosened as he gazed at her. They stood, poised, for a full minute before Draco spoke.

"Why do I feel this strange inclination to take care of you?" he asked quietly. He let his hands slip down the length of her arms. Slightly embarrassed, he turned away and gestured towards the coffee table.

"I found these in my search for clothes," he said, patiently, "which I obviously found."

A pink tinge crept over Hermione's face. She hugged the diary closer and looked a little bit remorseful.

"I was searching through your drawers," he explained, (Hermione issued an indignant squeak) "to find something to wear other than a towel or women's lacy underwear. It was obvious, after a little while, that there wasn't a man in your life. I decided to check the laundry area, and bingo, I found what I was looking for." He crossed his arms, an accusing look in his eyes. "You shouldn't hide other people's clothes," he chastised mildly.

"You shouldn't read other people's journals without permission," she shot back.

"I'm getting there," he said pointedly. "Calm down." He sat down on the couch and picked up a photo of himself. He was holding the hand of an American actress, his hair windblown. The caption described them as "young lovers taking a walk on the beach on the Italian shores."

"I don't understand," he said. "I don't remember this girl. I don't remember ever being in Italy. Yet here is the proof." He examined the photo carefully. "It even has my name on it. Draco Xavier Malfoy. Why do you even have all of these photographs of me?"

Hermione, her ire lessening, sat down next to him and leaned over him. His smell washed over her. Unwittingly, she pressed herself even closer to him. She studied the photograph from Witch Weekly.

"Look," he finally said. "I didn't mean to go through your journal. When I pulled my clothes off the shelf, something fell. I bent down to see what it was, and I was staring at a photo of myself. I reached up to see what else was up there, found the journal, and found the clippings."

He nodded towards the book she still held in her hand. "I admit, I did read your journal. But not all of it. I found the last entry, and read a few before that. That's all, I promise."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't read some of the earlier entries, where she had fantasized about certain, unmentionable things. She turned beet red just thinking about some of her entries.

"Look," she said, quietly. "I don't know what you remember, or what you are thinking right now. For some reason, you don't recognize me. I can tell you that you and I went to school together. To Hogwarts. We didn't like each other at first." Her lips twisted in an ironic smile. "Actually, we hated each other. But then, during your seventh year, things changed. We had a relationship of sorts."

Hermione was quiet. Draco stewed over this information. His elbows rested on his knees; his hands clasped together underneath his chin.

"It doesn't make sense," he said, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of them. "I have a clear memory of being born in England. My parents were Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. I grew up in Essex, England, in a huge Manor House called Malfoy Manor. At age ten, I went to Durmstrang. My two best friends were Braden Barrington and Mac Johnson. I earned Prefect in sixth year, but did not make Head Boy in eighth year. I graduated, decided to remain in Sweden, and got a job in Stockholm.

"Three years ago, I ran into my Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus, who I had never met, but knew existed. They owned a manor just outside Warsaw, and Aunt Bella invited me to visit. We talked a lot, about family and loyalty. After several weeks, she began to broaden my knowledge of the Dark Arts. We learned them in school, but I didn't know them like she did. It was fascinating. And, then, one day, two months later, they drugged me, took away my wand, carried me to the dungeons, and wouldn't let me out."

He shivered unconsciously, dropping his face into the palms of his hands. "She fed me succulent meals, clothed me in the finest material, but refused to let me go. It was bizarre. After a month, I figured out how to magic the lock without a wand. I planned my escape, down to the last detail. I knew the area well enough to know where to hide and where they would look for me. It was the middle of the night. I knew I would only have several moments to spare before the alarm that they set on me went off."

Hermione's hand had inched to his thigh. She was resting it there, holding her breath, drinking in every word he shared.

He continued, "I found the road in the forest that I was seeking fairly quickly. It would take me directly into the village, where I could con my way onto the train. From there, I would make it to Warsaw and get lost in the crowd. After several hours of wandering, I became aware that someone was following me. I played a game of cat and mouse with them for over two days. One night, they saw me and began chasing me."

He finally turned his head to look at Hermione. "That's when I ran straight into you." He was silent, exhausted from his recollection of the events of his life.

"Draco?" Hermione asked quietly. "I don't understand. What I know about you… well, you've never been to Sweden. I've followed your travels over the past few years. France, Italy, Spain. But, never Sweden or Poland." She stood, shaking her head. "It doesn't make sense." She began pacing the small room, mumbling to herself as she went.

Draco watched her, fascinated. She was beautiful, even with her hair thrown back into a ponytail, her oversized jumper and her fitted jeans. No make-up covered her clear complexion.

Finally, Hermione stopped. "What doesn't make sense is that you have a memory. You haven't lost a memory. You simply have a different one. And, it's a very clear memory. It is, isn't it?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I can see the halls of Durmstrang in my head."

Hermione sat down once again, her arms hugging herself, a bewildered expression on her face. "I don't understand."

"How did you find me?" asked Draco, suddenly.

Hermione reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the galleon. She took his hand, opened it and pressed the portkey into his palm. "You gave me this galleon before you left for London. You… you told me to look you up if I ever came. I was wandering around last night and started to think of you. I pulled out the galleon, held it tight and hoped that you were okay."

Hermione continued, her expression thoughtful. "It was a portkey. It took me to you. I apparated us both back to London since you didn't seem capable of doing it."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "You can do long-distance apparition? That's difficult magic. You must be extremely intelligent and strong-willed."

Hermione smiled wryly. "You could say that."

"It's odd, though," said Draco. "I don't remember you, but I have this odd attraction to you."

Hermione lifted her eyebrows and rolled her eyes at him. "Draco, this is not the time to start flirting with me. We have a serious problem here."

"No," he cried. "That's not what I mean. It's different. I've just met you, yet I feel an urgency to protect you and to take care of you. I should just feel straight lust for a girl like you."

Hermione blushed and laughed uncomfortably at the well-delivered compliment. "Whatever, Draco."

He reached for both of her hands and forced her to turn to him. "Hermione, I feel like I belong to you, like I've already memorized your face. It's not a new, exciting feeling. It's warm and deep and cemented in my soul."

Hermione was mesmerized. She couldn't help it. Nobody had ever spoken such eloquent words to her before. She drank it in. She drank him in. And, before she realized what was happening, she had leaned into him. She closed her eyes and released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Draco's hand stroked her cheek. Gently, he tilted her head towards him, bent down, and kissed her firmly. His tongue stroked her bottom lip and nudged open her mouth. His tongue dove into her mouth, a silky whisper against her own. Hermione groaned softly and lifted her face for more.

Draco's hand slipped down her exposed neck to her full breast. He cupped it, stroked it, and teased her nipple. Hermione pressed herself against his palm, uncaring that she wore no bra.

She didn't hear the jingle of keys in the door. She didn't notice the door to her flat opening. It wasn't until she heard Harry's voice say, "Well, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," that she realized someone else was in the room.

She pulled back from the embrace, mortified at being caught at such sophomoric behavior. Draco grinned down at her, a knowing smirk on his face. Harry, Neville and someone she didn't recognize stood in the middle of her living room.


End file.
